


we sing in the choir together

by twiddlesprocket



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blowjobs, M/M, Rough Sex, WHOLLY inspired by the vision of chris meloni's butthole burned into the back of my eyelids, partially. and maybe with meaning??, schrodingers character study, the plot here is about as deep as a cheap porno, ye who believe chris is a strict top be a fool and a coward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:28:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25883617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twiddlesprocket/pseuds/twiddlesprocket
Summary: An Exercise In How to Beg For Forgiveness(Temporarily), by Chris Keller.
Relationships: Tobias Beecher/Chris Keller
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	we sing in the choir together

**Author's Note:**

> short, self indulgent, and maybe a little nonsensical. takes place in ambiguous space...neither here nor there. sort of. anyways im sick of seeing beecher get topped >:(

* * *

Toby's mad at him again.

They hit a good patch this time around--or, Chris supposes, they _had._ For about a week, things were sweet; he and Toby would pal around in the common area, eat their meals without fuss and maybe some light petting, and stare at each other like a couple of homos while hitting the gym. The sex was frequent, almost every night, and it was fucking _great._ Chris had no complaints, so he couldn't really understand why Toby had such a big stick up his ass--and not the sexy kind.

It's like he woke up on the wrong side of the fucking bed or something. Every little thing Chris did set the guy off. Toby didn't want to be touched during breakfast, spent any and all free time with Saïd praying upstairs in their faggy little Jesus cube, and didn't even send one glance Chris's way during exercise, too busy bench pressing like the weights owed him money. Bedtime saw no respite from the patented Beecher Silent Treatment, so Chris took it in as big a stride as possible. He's not a bitch. He could handle some time apart, no sweat.

Well. Maybe a little sweat. Toby usually tosses and turns in his sleep, and that night Chris tensed every time, like Toby was about to dramatically swing down and ravish him and their fight would be over. It never happened, but Chris passed out with an apprehensive boner anyways.

The next day is the same. And then the next. 

Call him a whore, but Chris loves attention. From men, from women, from whoever. To be shut down all of a sudden after seven fluffy days of giggly, touchy-feely, jizz-filled paradise with the guy of his quite literal dreams...Frankly, he's pissed. Pissed, and a little desperate. A little desperate, and a _lot_ blue-balled. 

Toby's extra hostile on the fourth day, and while it gets Chris hot when he's shoved against the wall and told to fuck off, it also doesn't feel...great. Chris Keller isn't one to feel a lot of pain where his heart is like most people, but when Toby walks off and leaves him alone afterwards there's an uncomfortable clenching in his chest he can't seem to wrangle. Toby is _very_ angry with him, for a reason he can't put together. He hasn't done any bad shit lately. It's actually been the cleanest week Chris has ever seen in prison. His mind is a mess for the rest of the day, filled with thoughts that call him every horrible word in the dictionary and pester his every moment, like shitty little needles. Maybe, Chris thinks, glaring at the back of Toby's head while he watches television, just maybe, being fucked up in the head isn't the best.

At lights out, Toby clambers up to bed without a word, coldly shouldering Chris on the way, and that tears it. Chris's hand trembles where it clenches into a fist, stopping him from grabbing something and throwing it.

"What's wrong?" he asks, coolly. _Gotta be nice,_ Chris thinks. _Gotta be good._

"You talking to me?"

"Did I do something to upset you?" Chris continues, stepping up to Toby's bunk, curling his fingers around the cool sheets. Toby's leg is inches away. He tries to caress it, but Toby cruelly yanks it away.

"Don't," he warns.

"What did I do?" Chris asks, stronger this time.

"Leave me alone," Toby spits, even turning his head to level Chris with an angry leer. He may be trying his damndest to be an asshole, but Chris preens at the fact that Toby's looking at him again.

Chris reaches for Toby's leg a second time, coyly mumbling, "You haven't kissed me once these past couple days, I'm starting to wonder if maybe I did something wrong--"

Quick like a snake, Toby sits up and snatches hold of Chris's wrist, painfully tight. Chris chuffs out a soft breath when Toby leans forward and says, in the steeliest voice he can muster, "Remembering all the shit you put me through. The time you fucking broke my arms and legs, a little bit."

They're so close, closer than they've been since the beginning of Toby's little tantrum, and Chris is drunk on the attention. He can't stop looking at Toby's lips, grinning as he imagines them doing naughty things. "I didn't break your legs."

Toby throws Chris's hand away, swinging his legs over the bunk and dropping down, steering around Chris to the toilet and grumbling, "Right, thanks."

Chris admires Toby from behind while he takes a piss. The urge to be intimate and loving strikes. Toby's into that kind of shit, and Chris is into whatever Toby's into, because Toby's talking to him again and it's like fucking photosynthesis and Chris is now full of confidence and really wants to have sex again. He hardly gets the chance to run his hand through Toby's sweet golden brown hair and plant a kiss on his shoulder when Toby's slamming him back against the wall, hard enough to hurt, rattle his teeth, shake his brain up a bit.

"The word 'no' mean anything to you?" Toby seethes, pressing his forearm down on Chris's neck. Chris just smiles lazily and holds his arms up in mock surrender, and Toby must feel his Adam's apple bob when he swallows. Chris's insides grow warm when Toby glances at his mouth, the angry lines across his forehead deepening a little, like they do when he plays chess. It’s a question of whether or not Toby wants to give in. Chris can taste the tension in the air, can almost smell Toby's arousal. An easy read--he knows when Beecher is hot, he practically wrote the fucking book.

"Just wanna touch you, baby," Chris whispers, caressing Toby's bicep, down to his shoulder until he reaches Toby's firm side, down and down to the front of his boxers. Toby stops him with another vice grip on his wrist before he can reach inside. 

Chris regards him like a predator, tilting his head curiously. Toby's pretty blue eyes are hard and filled with something Chris doesn't understand in the dark, but whatever it is, his dick gets it. He cants his hips forward against Toby's thigh to feel a little friction. The air is electric, sizzling. Sexy.

"C'mon, Toby," he sighs. He tries his hand again.

Toby wrenches it away, grabs Chris's head and shoves him around until he's smashing Chris's cheek to the wall now, arm bent uncomfortably behind his back. Chris plants his other palm against the wall, bent at the elbow there, breathing harshly as Toby presses up tight behind him. 

"You've hurt me so many times," Toby says, voice soft despite the harshness of his hands.

Chris tests his mettle, makes as though he’s going to try and give Toby the slip while he waxes poetic, but Toby’s ready for it. He bends Chris’s arm further, presses in tighter, cages Chris in with every bit of muscle on his body. 

To break out of his hold would be a righteous fight; Toby’s short stature belies the ferocity of a cornered animal that’s been kicked around one too many times. Selfishly, Chris revels in the loss of control. He closes his eyes, concentrates on the feeling of Toby's cock catching on the dip between his ass cheeks.

"Not now," Chris mutters as best he can with his mouth against cement. "’m not hurting you now."

"But you will," Toby replies, sounding frustrated as all hell, nuzzling his nose on the shell of Chris’s ear, forehead brushing over the back of Chris’s skull. “You’re gonna hurt me again. You’re gonna hurt us.”

“Not us.”

“Just me?”

Chris doesn’t say anything, because fuck, he can’t predict the future. He just grapples at Toby’s hip with his free hand, trying to get him closer, to fucking fuse them both together so maybe he’ll absorb Toby’s goodness and Toby will absorb Chris’s shittiness and then they can stop fucking each other up because they’ll finally see the same things. “I’ll make it up to you,” he pants.

“How?”

Chris grinds his ass back against the solid length of Toby’s cock, boxers the only thing separating them, two thin sheets between a bad decision. “I’ll make it up,” he babbles nonsensically. “Wanna make it up to you.”

Toby’s hot breath gusts over the back of Chris’s neck as he holds him in place with his hips. Chris can feel the wrinkle that forms between his brows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah. Lemme make it up to you, Toby.”

Toby backs off a fraction, enough for Chris to twist around and look at him. He’s got a stony, blank look on his face, but he lets Chris put his hand on his dick, and that’s enough of an answer. He shoves the boxers down and gets a hand on him, spits crudely down between them to ease the rub, leans in to kiss Toby with a string of saliva hanging from his bottom lip. Toby indulges him. Brings a hand up to hold the base of Chris’s neck as they lick at each other’s tongues. Chris’s head is spinning. He can’t express his head to toe happiness except through soft groans and the enthusiastic hand on Toby’s cock, hoping Toby feels it too. Can he feel it?

There’s an insistent pressure coming from the hand on his neck. Chris lets it guide him down to his knees, even though that means he has to let go of Toby’s mouth, but he watches Toby the whole way. Does he feel it?

Toby is regarding him with a clinical, detached look. He rotates his head a little. “Make it up to me, Chris.”

Chris licks a strip up Toby’s cock, smiles at the taste, then wets his lips and suckles at the head. He swallows deeper each go around, pulling out all the stops, every dirty trick he knows to make Toby feel good. Toby’s moans are soft and quiet but Chris’s ego swells, heart pounding. God, he missed this...the taste, the smell. Toby holds him fast when he finally gets the entire shaft swallowed, everything down to his throat. He doesn’t expect it, so he chokes, eyes watering as his gag reflex gets caught off guard. He spares a glance upwards, sees Toby’s bored face in the dark. The hand on his head doesn’t relent. He gags again. Keeps looking up. It’s difficult to get a breath, and he feels a small headache come on when he gags for a third time, gobs of saliva splattering on the ground from where it’s being forced up his throat, but it’s almost like a game. Everything’s always been a game for them. Cat and mouse, right?

When Toby finally lets him go, Chris lifts off to gasp and cough. He knows he looks like a fucking slut, tears and spit all over his face, his throat sore, his stomach quivering, his cock rock hard. He doesn't touch it, though. Not yet. Makes the end so much sweeter.

Suddenly, he feels Toby’s hand on his face, under his dripping chin, tilting his head up. His thumb brushes delicately over Chris’s wet lips.

Chris grins, tongue darting out to lick it, drawing it in to suck on it like he did Toby’s cock. He runs his hands up and down Toby’s thighs, rolling his boxers the rest of the way down so Toby can step out of them. His thumb slips out of Chris’s mouth with a pop, and then he’s tugging his grey shirt off, pecs flexing before his hand is reaching down again, tugging Chris up by the chin. He kisses Chris hard on the mouth before turning him around and pushing him onto his bunk. Maneuvering him into place with little care, he yanks at Chris’s hip, holds him down again by the back of his neck so that he can't move. He shucks Chris’s own boxers down just past his ass and presses himself all along the back of Chris’s thighs, wet dick clumsily dragging up over his hole where Toby’s got his cheeks spread with the hand not closed around Chris’s neck. 

Grinning again, Chris is struck with deja vu. He read about this somewhere, in a book of fables once. About a lion, and a mouse, and a very dangerous trap. 

Suddenly there’s a poke and then a prod and Chris fully expects the painful, uncomfortable burn and stretch of a cock forcing his insides to make room(he deserves as much, right? Eye for an eye, angry fuck for two broken arms, _gotta make it up_ ), but instead he hears that familiar sound, feels the warm, wet drip down his crack, and closes his eyes. The saliva makes it a little easier for Toby to fuck his finger in and out. The Vaseline is tucked away in a hole ripped into the mattress, just out of reach, and Chris smiles just thinking about it.

Toby’s heavy breathing sends a thrill up his spine. “You want it?” he asks, voice deep and quiet as he pulls his finger out and thrusts. His cock follows the trail up Chris’s crack a couple times, then slips between his legs and pokes at his taint and the back of his balls.

Chris wiggles his ass and ruts back against it, hands fisting excitedly in the sheets when the head comes back up and catches on his rim.

“Yeah,” he says, word smearing across the sheets. “Yeah, Toby, give it to me.” 

Toby leans down and takes his hand away from Chris’s neck, bites down hard where it was, spreading Chris wide with one and using the other to help push his way inside. There’s resistance, because of course there is, it’s been four days since he’s been fucked, but when Toby finally slips in they both groan. The weight of Toby’s body forces Chris down until he’s pinned, Toby’s legs forcing his apart, reaching so _deep_ inside him. Toby sits up and shifts around and hits somewhere painful. Chris's whole body flinches and he grunts sharply in discomfort, but Toby soothes him with a soft drag of his hand over the back of his head, down his back, over the soft meat of his hip.

“I love you,” Toby says. It comes out kind of like a question.

Distantly, Chris thinks of Sister Peter Marie. Maybe love is just like this for everyone, he wonders briefly, before Toby leans down and kisses his neck sweeter than anything’s ever been. Confusing. Painful. Crazy. Fucking fantastic.

“I thought I was making up for something,” he mumbles, just to be a shit.

Toby hums as if he knows a secret, and when he moves, Chris swears he can feel it in his heart.

* * *

  
  



End file.
